


>SS: Erase your dead name and reunite with your loved ones

by MafagafoGirl



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Hey i'm sad, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 17:01:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21212006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MafagafoGirl/pseuds/MafagafoGirl
Summary: You face the door to the afterlife, as you faced many times before. But now you finally enter. You let go of your mortal possessions and sit down for tea with those you love the most.





	>SS: Erase your dead name and reunite with your loved ones

You’re tired. So very tired. You’ve been flying for who knows how long, and granted even if that wasn’t your body exactly that was straining, trips tend to be very tiring in general. You flew, and you fought with those kids on the roof, and you were  _ this close _ of getting your sweet, sweet revenge, before that weird squishy child swung his sword.

And then you saw the door. You’ve seen it before, many many times. But you’ve never quite entered it -- someone, or something, or sometimes yourself, has always pulled you away. This door is what Dersite and Prospitian poets and bards wrote about what awaited everyone after they’ve served on the Battlefield. It’s what made soft-shelled children go to bed in time with fear, and what those who’ve lost everything and everyone they loved wished to approach.

It was the door to the afterlife.

You rolled your arm and your robotic prosthetic on the sockets of your shoulders, relaxing them, and finally twisted the knob and joined in. For how much people make art about the afterlife, it was always very vaguely and contradictorily described; it’s empty, it’s lonely, it has everything you could dream of, it’s like walking into a surprise house party full of your friends and family. Parents would tell their children when the family dog gets ran over that they’re ‘sitting in the afterlife, drinking tea with Death’. What you see walking in is a little bit of all of these.

Death stares at you, holding a clipboard, with a smile. He seems like this is both routine and excitement for him; you know what they say -- when you love your job it doesn’t even feel like working. He looked at the clipboard and then back at you, calling for Jack Noir. You shrug -- Jack died with Derse all those centuries back, the fucking asshole, you say. The name bears no meaning to you, and if that bitch boy has a problem with it, he can travel forwards in time and clock you on the face. 

This obviously doesn’t happen. Death stares at you inquisitively, tilting his cranium to the side confused.

You’re Spades Slick, you clarify. Leader of the Midnight Crew and the Felt, owner of a magnificent robo ass and cold-blooded mobster who ain’t got anything else to lose, and lately, if you have to be honest with yourself, nothing else to fight for. Revenge has been made for you, and it wasn’t satisfying in the slightest.

The personified entity nods, comprehensive, and scribbles away the name he had on his clipboard. Why won’t you join them all for tea, he says, pointing to the table right behind him, they had been expecting you for so long, and then mutters to himself as he walks away to set a cup and a saucer for you. You look forwards, trailing Death’s bony finger, and your eyes grow wide for a moment.

Deuce waves you an excited hi, boss, do you wanna join them for poker? Death only plays board games, Boxcars completes, a hand on the table, and they already played all of ‘em. Droog looks to you, unreadable, raising his cup for a sip. You barely believe your eye. The empty white vastness expands around you, but all your eye focus on is the round table and the three mobsters around it, a suspiciously empty seat arranged right next to them.

You gawk. You raise your hands. They tremble. It’s been so long.  _ It’s been so long and you can hardly believe it _ . Your cohorts stare at you, they don’t know what’s wrong, when they see the tears filling up your eyes. Gently, nonchalantly, the short one walks over to you, so you can give the powder monkey a hug. Skaia, how you missed this little troublemaker. Then the big one comes forward, wrapping you in a bearlike grip. Finally, comes the long one. He stares at you, and you stare at him, and deliver a curt, respectable, hard-boiled nod as a greeting, which was politely reciprocated. 

Droog tells you to swallow up your pride and jump into his arms already. You growl at him, but sooner rather than later you leap forward, and swing into the arms of your right-hand man. He’s so much better than Crowbar, you admit to yourself. Quiet, warm, he knows what you want and he gets the job done without all the cheeky remarks. What a saint.

He thanks you for the kind words, and advises you to go easy on the green guy. Wait, did you say that out loud? Deuce says yes. You let out an exclamation of discontent. For a moment, everyone is silent. Silently enjoying each other’s presence, in one of your many group hugs; now that the crew is finally complete, the four suits back together again, it sort of overwhelms you. You spent so much time away from them. You fell in love. You murdered the universe. You were declared dead quite a few times. You’ve acquired yourself a beautiful robo ass, which you used to travel for who knows how goddamn long so you could find a shitty, bloodied version of yourself and kill that sunovabitch, because that was the next best thing to enacting revenge on your godforsaken casino and your godforsaken old life as a godforsaken archagent.

A task that, now that you think about it, got blown up into something kind of ludicrous. Would you even  _ be _ able to avenge yourself, knowing what you now know about English? Would you be strong enough? Without your crew? Hell if you knew. So many thoughts go through your mind, and so little of them go out your mouth. You sigh, and sketch up a smile. You have all the time in the world to catch up, anyway.

You let go of your mortal shackles, your eyepatch and your prosthetic, and as much as you will miss it, you part with your robotic behind, and join your friends in what will hopefully be your final resting place. You didn’t do what you wanted to, but the troubles and ambitions had in life barely seem to matter now. No, they don’t matter anymore. 

Not if you have your crew back.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading :D  
My twitter is @_IIntermission_ and my tumblr is artiesbutt. Feel free to shout at me anytime!  
This work was inspired by the lyricstuck "Run to You" by Avery (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J1lqUzvs9L0). If you liked this, give it a watch!


End file.
